


Out of My Depth

by JekkieFan



Series: Let Our Walls Cave In [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Couch Cuddles, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hair, Kinda, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, St James's Park (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, but it's light, hair petting, hand kiss, the yearning is palpable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JekkieFan/pseuds/JekkieFan
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been taking their retirement well. One of the more resent enjoyments the immortal beings have taken up is cuddling (sometimes during store hours). But if asked this the two would deny it, saying that they were simply relaxing in each other’s company. However there were some things left unsaid.Aziraphale couldn’t ask that of Crowley, even if they were close. If his feelings were shunned, well, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he could handle that. Not after they’d grown close like this. He didn’t want to ruin this friendship.Meanwhile, Crowley wasn’t even going to even entertain that idea. The idea of coming inside from gardening to find Aziraphale there, with his nose happily in a book. Crowley couldn’t ruin what they have by going too fast again.Aka: In which the ineffable idiots have grown to enjoy cuddling. And five times they don't confess their feelings, and one time they do.(You don't need to read the previous work to understand this one)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Let Our Walls Cave In [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707562
Comments: 41
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like vivid descriptions of someone playing with someone else's hair, then this isn't the fic for you. But if you do like that then welcome home! You'll probably like this.

A handful of months have passed since averting the End of All Things (though it was mostly the work of a more earth-ish than hellish eleven-year-old), as well as successfully fooling their former bosses. Aziraphale and Crowley have been taking their retirement well. One of the more resent enjoyments the immortal beings have taken up is cuddling (sometimes during store hours). But if asked this the two would deny it, saying that they were simply relaxing in each other’s company. And that Crowley draping his legs over Aziraphale’s lap was in _no way_ a form of cuddling. But seeing that the shop was currently closed, no one could ask this, and so continued on their January walk through soho. Possibly to warm up in the cafe next door.

Inside the quiet and loved bookshop were two immortal beings “enjoying relaxing in each other’s company” in the typical fashion. Crowley lay on his side, with his head on Aziraphale’s lap, watching the book dust float and fall onto the fading Persian rug. Aziraphale was captivated by a first edition of Keats’ poetry that he held in one hand. Meanwhile his other hand was wrapped in the fiery ribbons Crowley’s hair. Soft and smooth locks winding around his fingers that caught on the angel’s ring from time to time.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked in a hushed tone much too loud for the gentle scene.

The demon replied with a deep sigh, exhaling sleepiness from his corporation, “Hmm?”

“Would you like me to read to you?”

Crowley briefly mulled over the words Aziraphale just said. “Sure. What is it?”

“Keats.”

“Never knew him.”

“He came to my shop once,” Aziraphale mentioned. “Before he became a poet.

“Really?” Crowley wasn’t really interested in what famous writers came into Aziraphale’s shop, but he did like to hear Aziraphale excitedly talk about them.

“He was such a sorry sight when he found the shop.” History turned back in Aziraphale’s mind as he spoke. “He was trapped between his desire to become a poet, and his currant medical studies. We talked for the whole evening. Mostly he sorted out his thoughts and feelings. A couple years later I saw his name on a book of poetry.”

“Was it this one?” Crowley asked with a finger grazing the brown edge of the held volume.

“No, this was published after he passed.” Aziraphale’s closed the book, and smoothed over the cover. The plain golden title shined softly in the winter light. “A first edition, but not a first work.”

“Well,” Crowley sighed, “what do you want to read to me?”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale quickly opened the book to the desired page.

Crowley closed his eyes, and relaxed into his spot again. Then he listened to the angel’s soft and clear voice trickle over him.

_Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--_

As Aziraphale read he returned to running his free hand through Crowley’s hair again. It was with more purpose this time. Attentive fingers grazing Crowley’s hairline and twirling strands between his fingers. Crowley began to melt into the couch as he felt the gentle tug of his hair. Hand-warmed locks of hair gently placed on his neck or shell of his ear. Aziraphale’s words began to gently drift as sleep pulled over Crowley like a warm blanket on a winter day.

_Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, / Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,_

Aziraphale paused when he glanced down to Crowley.

The demon’s features were smoothed by sleep, and his golden eyes shut peacefully. Aziraphale had never seen that. In the six-thousand years they’ve known each other, Aziraphale had never once seen Crowley sleep. He carefully pulled the stray strands of hair out of Crowley’s face. The angel couldn’t resist a tender hearted smile.

As he watched the rise and fall of Crowley’s breaths, Aziraphale’s mind began to wander. He thought about how delightful a sight it was, to see the speed demon softly resting. And how comfortable they’ve been with each other lately. He ran his thumb over the dry paper, and watched light shadows flit across the ink. The angel briefly thought of how all of this, all this closeness, came to be. And how he’d like this to continue.

Aziraphale stopped himself.

He couldn’t ask that of Crowley, even if they were close. Aziraphale watched Crowley’s tranquil form nestled in the couch. The cashmere aura of love faded into a warm bubble in Aziraphale’s chest. If his feelings were shunned, well, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he could handle that. Not after they’d grown close like this. He didn’t want to ruin this friendship.

Aziraphale shut the book. He flinched at the louder-than-anticipated hollow _plop_ of the hardcover. Crowley shifted in his sleep. Taking this opportunity, Aziraphale got up to fetch more coco, afraid of staying a second longer. The demon gave a startled hum, before settling back down.

The first thing Crowley noticed was the absence of angel under his head. He moved his hand around the spot above him. Crowley felt nothing but heated cushion. He missed basking in his warmth. It was like a sunny day to Crowley’s serpentine nature. He mused on how the dreadful winter would soon be over. Crowley thought of a bright spring garden, all vibrant and well behaved. He’d plant some primroses, or maybe some tulips. Though colorful plants might not be Aziraphale’s style, Crowley considered. Would the flowers distract from his reading?

Crowley needed to wake up.

He sat up and rubbed his face. Crowley wasn’t going to even entertain that idea. The idea of coming inside from gardening to find Aziraphale there, with his nose happily in a book. Crowley couldn’t ruin what they have by going _too fast_ again.

He ran his hands thought his combed hair, and stretched his bones. And after pleasantly popping a few joints, Crowley yawned and tasted sweet coco in the air. Might as well get up and see what Aziraphale was up to.

If some one could have gotten into the bookshop, they would have heard the distant beginnings of a conversation on cacao plants. This conversation would have evolved into Valentine’s Day traditions, and told with the same confidence of beings who were old enough to meet St. Valintine. But seeing that they could never get into the shop, they only felt an overwhelming feeling of ease and comfort emitting from that old bookshop next door. They smiled as they sipped their tea, and thought about spending the rest of the evening with a dear friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this is a series now, and I guess I'm gonna title any fic in the series after lyrics from [Heart by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IFYU8YDprY) Also I guess that I can only write this type of fluff while listening to MCR. Because that's what happened last time, and that's what happened with this chapter. I also have the feeling that John Keats' work may show up in later chapters. You could say that writing this fic has made me a little bit obsessed with his poetry. Talking about his poetry, the poem featured in this chapter is often called [Bright Star](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44468/bright-star-would-i-were-stedfast-as-thou-art) I absolutely love it and highly recommend checking out his other poems.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Crowley has some burning bookshop related feelings. It's mild, but it exists.

As the two continued on their conversation, snow began to build up on the streets of London. While inside the bookshop an angel and a demon were drinking themselves into vague observations. Crowley reclined on the couch with a tartan quilt draped over his shoulders, wine glass threatening to spill in his hands. Aziraphale sat in his chair, elbow propped up on the ornate wooden arm as he poured the last of their sixth bottle into his glass.

“If bird are flocks,” mumbled Crowley as the wine sloshed around, but never daring to fall out, “then why are the sheeps flocks too?”

“Hmm...” Aziraphale thought as thoroughly as a search for a beetle in a foggy meadow. Which is to say, not that thorough. Through the haze Aziraphale saw the quilt that Crowley was wrapped in. He looked quiet cold despite it. But his cheeks were a lovely dusty rose. Blush suited Crowley, Aziraphale thought. What a human thing to do. His heart must be beating fast. But why?

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“You’re staring.”

“Excuse me.” Aziraphale paused, then once again boarded his train of thought. “Quilts.”

Crowley shifted, thinking that if he got a different angle of the angel’s face he might better understand him. “Wot?”

“Quilts have flock in them,” Aziraphale explained. “It’s what’s on sheep.”

“Flock is sheep hair? No, not hair.”

“Fur?” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley shook his head lazily, “Doesn’t sound right.” A harsh wind hit the side of the bookshop. Parts of the chilled air trickled in through the window opened a sliver. Crowley shivered and covered his arm with the quilt. But it was too late. His corporation remembered winter’s icy clutches on the northern hemisphere, and acted accordingly.

“Are you cold?” Aziraphale asked in such a sweet tone that it made Crowley’s heart melt.

Crowley tried to think of a response. He didn’t want to worry the angel, but he was already worried. Phrases of sentences swam with the alcohol flooding his brain. He swiped the hair out of his face. “I… I need to sober-up,” he croaked.

Aziraphale leisurely nodded his head in agreement.

The two of them braced for the unpleasant experience. Particles of alcohol stopped dancing with blood cells, before being yanked back into the bottles they originated from. A sour tang of rotten grapes remained in the mouths of the angel and the demon. Aziraphale winced, while Crowley suck his tongue out in dislike. Then another draft came in through the crack in the window.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “It’s snowing.”

Crowley grumbled into the blanket.

As Aziraphale approached the slightly ajar window, he gasped, “Oh my.”

“Wot’s it?”

“It appears to me, that we’re snowed in.”

Outside soft snowflakes turned frozen and furiously scraped at the brick buildings. Ice coated the streets and clung to shop signs. Everything that was visible was covered in dull white. And in the distance a streetlight glowed red through the icy wind.

Aziraphale shut the window fully, lock clicking into place. He took one look at the shivering demon, and the angel knew this wouldn’t do at all. Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The bookshop wasn’t cold, maybe a touch chilled, but otherwise comfortable. But he knew that’s not how Crowley worked. He was serpentine in nature, and not the most adaptable to winter.

Crowley heard the firm steps of the angel’s shoes on the hardwood. He watched as Aziraphale walked passed him with rolled sleeves. His soft but unmistakably strong forearms showing, it stopped Crowley’s heart. Crowley’s brain sparked and ceased transmitting information. Somehow Crowley knew that Aziraphale was talking to him, but he didn’t noticed much. His heart started beating again, but too fast. Crowley was too stuck to hide his blush.

Then a spark. A real one. And a real fire.

Crowley had spent too much time offline to notice that Aziraphale was starting a fire in the fireplace.

Aziraphale smiled as the warm amber light blanketed the room. He rubbed the warm side of his forearms, and listen to the pleasant crackle of embers flying up the chimney. “That should be better. Come join me, Crowley.” Aziraphale patted space on the rug next to him.

But there was no response.

He turned to find that Crowley hadn't moved an inch. Frightened yellow eyes stared intensely back at him through the flame’s dancing light. Crowley was still as a grave, save for the occasional irregular breath.

Crowley’s eyes flickered to the fire and back to Aziraphale.“Is this alright?” He asked in a small whisper.

“I was about to ask the same thing.” Aziraphale rose to his feet, making his way towards the demon.

Crowley watched as the red inferno silhouetted the angel’s frame, hiding his soft features in a black shadow. Without meaning to, Crowley reached out his hand towards his angel. But unlike any nightmare, Crowley found Aziraphale.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, and sat next to him on the couch. With his other hand Aziraphale placed it on the Crowley’s knee. He glanced at the cozy fireplace and snapped his fingers. The flames were swallowed up by the logs, and the embers fizzled out. There was nothing but a dark and ashy fireplace.

“My apologies,” Aziraphale sighed. “I forgot about...” he trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Crowley shrugged, “S’ alright.” It wasn’t, Crowley was still rather shaken up, but didn’t want his angel to worry further. He shivered from nerves, and the growing cold.

Aziraphale frowned, “You’re still freezing. Here.” Without another word, Aziraphale opened Crowley’s quilt cocoon before scooting closer, and wrapped them both in tartan.

The suddenly closeness sent his previous nerves flying, and replaced them with alarm. But the warmth from the angel was like the spring sun after a cruel winter. It was not harsh, but healing.

“This should help,” Aziraphale said quietly. This may have been a touch too much, but everything seemed to be running smoothly.

Though they’ve never been close like this, Crowley found himself leaning into Aziraphale’s chest, his head resting on the other’s shoulder.

Everything had been going as expedited, for the most part. Crowley snuggled into the warmth of his chest as Aziraphale rest his hand on his shoulder. But then Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley’s cool forehead lay in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, soft curls brushing his jawline. Aziraphale’s corporation gained a few degrees in temperature.

Crowley felt the hand on his shoulder start to move, paired with the familiar tug at his scalp. He shut his eyes to better feel and melt into the warmth. It was a warm buzz that filled his veins and promised protection. He could almost fall asleep.

Aziraphale carefully worked out any tangles painlessly. Each lock pulled straight, then springing back, and landing somewhere on Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale stopped a moment to tend to a knot at Crowley’s nape. He didn’t want to pull too hard, especially at the silken and delicate strands here. But after a minute all was fixed, and Aziraphale continued.

Crowley’s mind drifted down the flow of thoughts. He involuntarily let out a long, content hum. “S’ nice,” he hissed comfortably.

“It is,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley yawned. “Should do it more.”

Aziraphale pause, his mind less foggy. “Do you think so?”

Crowley went ridged. Did he want to have this conversation yet? But he wasn’t ready. Quickly he shrugged, not committing to a concrete answer. He drew the quilt tighter around himself, and buried his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “S’ just a thought. It’s nothing, angel,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale sighed, trying not to sound disappointed. “Well, let’s get you warmed up, and then see what to do about this storm.”

Crowley nodded silently, afraid to open his mouth again.

In the grey lit room Aziraphale and Crowley they relaxed in each others company. Their thoughts floating along the stream on consciousness. The two of them were on the brink of something. Both supernatural beings tried to find a word for this feeling, this state of existence. They both came to the same conclusion, but kept silent. As winter cast it’s cozy spell over them, Aziraphale and Crowley calmed in the comfort they created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I just need something soft.
> 
> And yes, I know it's summer right now, but it's February in this fic. So we get more cold Crowley. Actually though, I still get cold in the summer. I just need some AC and a cup of water and I'll be shivering. And yes I totally headcanon that Crowley mentally bluescreens whenever he sees Aziraphale's forearms.
> 
> Also really quick on the topic of updates. As you can probably tell, there's no concrete schedule with this fic. My thing is that when I finish writing a chapter of my comic, I write a chapter of Out of My Depth. So I will finish this fic! There'll just be a lot of time between updates.
> 
> Hey, if you like this please leave a like or a kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley stayed at the bookshop as frost ebbed away from the roads. In truth, with just a snap of his fingers, he could have left anytime he wanted. But that’s the thing. He didn’t want to, and neither did Aziraphale. There was something that the two found comforting in the other’s presence. Something in the quick smiles they shared. Something in hearing the other’s familiar footfall from another corner of the shop. In those three days a domestic serenity filled the bookshop. It did not go unnoticed, but it did go unspoken. When the snow cleared, and Crowley left to his flat, the shop felt colder.

They had gone back to their normalcy of daily visits and outings together. As temperatures rose the rose-haired demon offered his favorite angel a stroll through St. James. The angel agreed with much delight, recalling how long it’s been since they’ve been to the park. During their walk they got to talking about everything and nothing at all. The conversation drifted from bloody battles to bread baking, and… bath salts.

“I’m sure someone out there likes it. Or why would they make it,” Aziraphale noted looking up at the cloudy sky, trying to check for rainfall.

“Well,” Crowley started, “I’m sure it’s a joke.” Despite the wind whipping his at his hair, he attempted to look dignified, hoping it would help his point. “But I wouldn’t want to come out of the bath smelling like popcorn.”

Aziraphale watched a pair of swans mingle with the ducks in the nearby pond. “Some humans like to eat while soaking. Well, not popcorn, I don’t think, but things like chocolates or drinking wine.”

“But see, that’s the thing. That’s relaxing. This is trying to smell like,” Crowley struggled to find an eloquent word, but came up empty handed, “… snack food.”

Aziraphale, lost in thought, grew quiet.

“You alright, angel?”

“Oh, yes. This talk has gotten me thinking about when I opened the bookshop. Do you remember? You gave me those wonderful chocolates.”

“Yeah, I remember. They were a new thing then… I think.” Crowley paused, debating whether or not to say what he was thinking. Unfortunately his mouth decided for him. “Do you want me to get you another box?” Then quickly and coolly adding, “S’ been a while. I’m sure they’ve improved.” A wave of wind toyed with Crowley’s hair, but he didn’t pay attention.

“Oh no,” Aziraphale smiled shyly as he took out some food for the birds, “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” Crowley pulled back the hair strand that threatened to get stuck in his mouth, only to have a breeze release it from behind his ear.

As Aziraphale tossed the bird’s food the wind carried it a few meters away from the ducks. He frowned in disappointment.

“S’ too windy,” Crowley hissed at the wind for upsetting the angel.

The wind hissed back, and gave him a face full of hair.

When the gales died down, Crowley heard an angelic chuckle next to him. Crowley turned with an annoyed snarl, but stopped. The snarl dissipated at the vision before him. There was no need for a sun with a smile like the one Aziraphale wore in that moment. It hit Crowley like a pleasant punch to the gut.

For Aziraphale when he saw Crowley he couldn’t help but grin at the humorous sight. Crowley’s deep amber hair was twisted and hooked around the angles of his face. His hair had grown a bit since the Armageddon that Never Was. It was about as long as it had been back when they had decided to be Warlock’s godfathers over a decade ago. But now it was all tousled.

Crowley tried to swipe his hair out of his face, but it only managed to catch on his sunglasses. They fumbled off his face. Bright sunlight stung his nocturnal eyes. This might as well happen.

Aziraphale rushed to catch them, but was too late. The sunglasses clattered to the sidewalk. Aziraphale picked them up carefully so as to not further crack the lenses. “Oh,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t catch them in time.” Aziraphale handed them back.

Crowley shrugged, “Just glasses.” But frowned when he saw his fractured reflection in the broken glass. He was just about to take the broken thing when Aziraphale pulled them away.

“Here,” Aziraphale said running his thumb over the black lenses.

Crowley was about to say something about Aziraphale cutting his hand with broken glass, but stopped.

Aziraphale handed him back the glasses. The sunglasses where as good as new. It was as if they never fell. Crowley looked on in awe of the small gesture.

The angel watched as blush dusted the demon’s cheeks. Or maybe that was the red of his hair reflecting on his cheeks? His hair was awfully messy. Aziraphale raised his hand to Crowley’s face, trying to make quick work of tucking the stray strand behind his ear. Trying not to think about how cool Crowley felt despite the warmer weather. Or how soft his hair was, even though it was terribly tangled now. Or how his eyes looked like amber stars. Or how –

Then a kite.

Crowley barely had time to flinch when the colorful projectile landed a meter away. A trio of young humans hurried towards them. The demon looked down to avoid eye contact.

“Sorry! Sorry!” said the one with a scarf. “We’ll fly our kite farther away next time.”

“Perfectly alright,” Aziraphale said withdrawing his hand from Crowley’s face.

As she retrieved the kite, the short one was hushing the rainbow haired one, who giggled in turn. They quickly scampered off. But before they were too far, the one in the scarf hushed the other two, “They’re obviously on a date! Can’t you two keep quiet for five minutes?”

Aziraphale swallowed it in. These humans so easily saw what he longed to propose. At first he was fearful, like he had been caught. But the feeling melted away, and all that was left was a fondness. The warmth in his heart bubbled up into a smile.

“Listen,” Crowley started, putting on his glasses to distract from blushing more, “I think this wind has it out for me.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, still smiling brightly. “Perhaps we should meet up again tomorrow. I know this lovely little cafe that just opened up.”

“I,” Crowley started. He had heard the conversation between the humans too, and was feeling… things. And all these feelings made it hard to say something other than, ‘Say, angel, we should put a word to this relationship thing we got going on.’ It was like trying to speak with marbles in his mouth. “I, uh, was thinking maybe you could stop by my place tomorrow. If you’d like.” Crowley coughed the metaphorical marbles out of his mouth. “You’ve only been there once. When we switched.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and Crowley feared that he said the wrong thing.

“Well,” Aziraphale beamed, “that sounds lovely. Maybe in the afternoon.”

“Sounds like, uh, a plan.” Crowley thankfully caught his tongue before it uttered the word ‘date’ against his will.

And so the duo continued through the park, feeling lighter than before. Words had been said, but not the ones they truly wished to say. However they were content with that… somewhat. There was still the thrill of fluttering hearts whenever a stray hand brushed the back of the other’s. All this fluttering filling their chests’, so much so that it ached. It was an ache they wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that "gays at brunch" meme? Yeah, that's the kite trio.
> 
> Sorry, this isn't a more cuddly chapter. I don't really have an excuse, save for that I wasn't sure how cuddly one could be in a public park. So instead you get Aziraphale tucking hair behind Crowley's ear, and the both of them getting flustered over it. Also I found this song that reminded me of this fic series. It's [The Nearness of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhaCNIpAnPs) covered by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.
> 
> But yeah, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment! Or don't, it's chill.


	4. Chapter 4

It was noon the next day. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm wasn’t what was bothering Crowley. He stalked around the lush, emerald foliage that filled his balcony, water mister in hand. His predatory gaze scanned over every stem and leaf for the slightest imperfection. Something caught his eye. He stopped at the gardenias. The red flowers where in full bloom, despite not being in season yet. But there, nestled among the vermilion blossoms was a single bud. Aziraphale was due to show up any moment.

“What is _this_ ,” Crowley punctuated each word with an echoing step on the concrete.

The gardenias trembled. Red petals fell from the terrified bush onto the cold, grey stone. Every plant on the balcony quaked with fear.

Crowley’s voice was low and dripping with venom, “I told you _yesterday_ to be in full bloom.” Crowley shifted is attention to the other residence on the balcony, “All of you!”

A strong breeze from the oncoming storm scattered the gardenia petals. They twirled around Crowley, much to his annoyance. He’d have to clean that up before Aziraphale arrived.

_Ding-dong!_

Or not.

Crowley rushed to the door and felt the familiar angelic presence. It soothed the twisted frustration inside the demon. Aziraphale’s presence felt like calmed power and kindness, with a bit of that bastard energy that Crowley loved so much. If asked, he’d say it felt like sunlight on cashmere.

On the other side of the door Aziraphale straighten his vest. He had fiddled with it in the lift, and had gotten it off center. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t be nervous. This was Crowley. He knew the serpent for six-thousand years. And it’s not like he’s never been to his flat. Aziraphale let out a sigh, and relaxed his shoulders.

The lock clicked, and the door opened. There Crowley stood in his usual black clothes and tight trousers. But today bright, red petals delicately decorated his shoulders and auburn curls. It was obvious to Aziraphale that the petals were not intentional. The lovely and, dare he think, adorable sight brought a warm bubbling to his chest.

“Good afternoon,” Aziraphale beamed.

“Welcome, angel. Come in.” Crowley stepped aside for Aziraphale to enter, unaware of the petals all over him.

Slowly Aziraphale walked inside, looking at Crowley as he did so. He was unsure if he should say something about the floral mess on Crowley’s head, or enjoy the view.

Crowley shut the door feeling Aziraphale’s stare on his flushing neck. He willed his blood to stop rushing to his face. “I was thinking about watching a movie, if you’re in the mood.” Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale, “Do you have anything in –”

Aziraphale had taken a step closer to Crowley than he expected. The angel had an amused smile spreading across his face. “Excuse me, but,” he paused to reach a hand to Crowley’s head.

Warm fingertips brushed his temple. The brief touch tingled and sparked warmth in his heart. The spark dimmed when Aziraphale pulled back a bright red petal.

“You seem to have gotten into a mess with your garden,” Aziraphale chuckled. He pulled another petal off of his shoulder.

The angel was practically glowing now. It was like staring at the sun. Crowley couldn’t think of a better way to go blind.

“What’s with all of these petals?”

Crowley’s brain took a second to reboot. “It’s, uh, from some gardenias.” Very eloquent.

“Oh, I would love to see them. But,” he paused to mentally shake off his nerves, “first let me help you with these,” Aziraphale plucked another petal from his hair.

“Yeah, let me just,” Crowley sauntered over to the couch, with Aziraphale in tow.

The leather squeaked under Aziraphale as he settled. The angel sat on the couch with the demon on the floor between his feet. Crowley felt the tickle of each petal being taken out of his hair, or plucked off his shoulder. Aziraphale neatly placed each crimson petal on the jet-black leather next to him.

“You said this was from your gardenias?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft in the quiet of the flat.

Crowley hummed affirmatively.

“Red gardenias.” A blush brushed Aziraphale’s cheeks. He held one of the lush petals between his finger and thumb. “You know,” he turned over the petal in his hand, “the Victorians gave secret meanings to different flowers.”

“Did they?” Crowley had been asleep during the Victorian era. After their holy water squabble he didn’t want to face reality for a long while. The demon breathed out the stressful memory. It was over now.

“Sometimes,” Aziraphale started methodically, “the meaning changed depending on colour, or the number of flowers one gave.” He set another petal down. “Back in the day if one gave someone a red gardenia, it was a discreet way to express one’s love.”

Crowley swallowed nervously. “Secret love.”

“Precisely.” Aziraphale took out the last petal. He was hoping that Crowley would say something.

Rain pattered on the balcony. Crowley remembered back in the garden of Eden, and the sound of rain pattering on the wall. Memories of all the lunches and shows they enjoyed together passed in his mind’s eye. Then he thought of the day before. He wanted to put this thing in words. Whither it be “friends” or “lovers” he wanted to know. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Crowley opened his mouth to speak.

Aziraphale, after waiting in the silence, decided to comb his fingers between auburn locks. They were still cool from the outside air. Carefully he ran his hands through the tangles and to the ends. He repeated this slowly, issuing a content and drawn out hum from Crowley.

Anything that the demon had been planning on saying escaped him as he enjoyed the angel’s hands on his scalp. The gentle tug of tangles being undone, and warm hands cradling his head silenced all thoughts. Crowley languidly leaned to the side, and rested his cheek on Aziraphale’s knee.

Aziraphale chuckled and tucked some stray hair behind Crowley’s ear. The soft shell of his ear brushed his hand as he did so. Aziraphale held the strands of hair, and felt them shift between his fingers. He could do this forever. And given that they are immortals, he very well could. But then he would miss all of their… Well, he would call them dates, but he wondered if Crowley would. Aziraphale took his mind off of it. “You’ll have to show me your red gardenias.”

Crowley hummed again. His bones where turning into putty as he melted into the touch. If half of his brain had been functional he would have refused, wanting his angel to witness only the best of his garden. But as this wasn’t the case, Crowley let out a relaxed sigh.

Aziraphale smiled as he felt his heart overflowing with love.

They spent this afternoon in the comfortable silence. The talk of red gardenias didn’t go forgotten, but they chose to not say anything about it yet. Outside rain pattered on the garden soil. And that single gardenia bud bloomed the biggest and brightest blossom in the bush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! The chapter is done! It almost didn't due to burnout feelings I've been dealing with lately. So my apologies for this chapter taking a while.  
> But I am SO HAPPY to finally put some of my flower language fun facts to use! If any of you wanna comment some flower meanings I'd love to hear them. I'm also happy to share some more of what I know as well.  
> And please leave a comment or kudos if you feel up to it. Either way I hope you have a nice day!


	5. Chapter 5

Visiting Crowley’s flat had been one of Aziraphale’s new favorite activities. He enjoyed the long afternoons in the sleek flat reading an old tome. The hum of distance traffic mixing with the sound of vinyl records being quietly organized by the demon. Though it was occasionally interrupted by Crowley scolding his plants. Other afternoons he enjoyed talking with Crowley about anything and everything. Or sitting in content silence.

Today wouldn’t be any different. Aziraphale was happily bouncing on his heels as the lift brought him to Crowley’s floor. In his arms he carried a book of keats, and a potted red gardenia. It was the best one in the garden shop. Aziraphale spent the bus ride to the flat whispering soft compliments to the flowering bush. He thought it worked much better than Crowley’s methods. Just a little gift for his demon. With a beaming grin, Aziraphale knocked on the door. He hummed some tune about nightingales as he waited with the flowers in his arms.

But there was no answer.

Aziraphale’s smile lessened. He knocked again.

He didn’t even hear anyone stirring from the other side of the door. His angelic blood ran cold. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the lock clicked open. Slowly the angel peered into the living room. He hoped deep in his heart that Hell didn’t come for Crowley. Aziraphale took a deep breath, and tried not to think of seeing a puddle of Crowley on the polished floor. He opened his eyes, and scanned the concrete room. It was empty. This didn’t make Aziraphale feel any better.

A snore rumbled in the air.

Aziraphale walked around the couch to find Crowley napping on it in a tangle of limbs. One leg hung over the arm of the couch, while his auburn head dangled over the cushions. His spine was curved in a way that did not look comfortable in the slightest. At least he was wearing his loose, silk pajamas, instead of the skin-tight pants he always sports.

Aziraphale smiled. _Look_ _s_ _like he’s taking a nap_. For a moment he watch the pillow on Crowley’s stomach rise and fall with the demon’s breathing. _I should leave him to his dreams._ Aziraphale quietly walked over to the end table. He silently placed the pot on the modern table. Crowley slept on. Aziraphale started towards the study for a pin and paper. He couldn’t leave without a note showing that he was here.

“Angel?” came the groggy voice from behind him.

Aziraphale turned around to see Crowley sitting up.

Crowley swung his leg into a position humanly probable. His bones popped and crackled in protest at movement. “Whatta you here for?” Crowley said as he rubbed his face.

“I was just dropping by to give you something.” Aziraphale frowned, “But please, you don’t have to get up.”

“Give me wot?” His voice was still slurred by sleep. Aziraphale found it adorable.

Aziraphale gestured to the potted gardenias.

Crowley blinked, like he couldn’t quiet believe what he was seeing. The flowers were in perfect condition. Each petal the perfect shade, and each leaf lush and proud. And they were red. The demon willed his face from turning as scarlet as the gardenias. Crowley knew what that meant. They both did. They talked about it the other day for someone’s sake! But maybe it was a humorous reference to that day…

_Or maybe it isn’t._

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He was waiting.

“Yeah,” was all Crowley’s lovestruck brain could make his mouth say.

Aziraphale took a step towards the door. “Well, I should be going.”

Crowley’s heart ached. He didn’t want the angel to leave just yet. “Stay?”

Aziraphale stopped, he started fiddling with his golden ring. “You want me to stay?”

The demon nodded. It was hard to speak after waking up. He patted the cushion next to him.

“Well,” Aziraphale chuckled, “if you insist.”

Crowley smirked at the sarcastic reference to their old ways. _No more excuses to be together._ But something about that hurt. _Does he really want that?_

Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley with book still in hand. The black leather squeaked beneath them as they shifted. Crowley crawled over his lap, and draped his back over Aziraphale’s legs.

“That can hardly be comfortable,” Aziraphale attempted to say to Crowley’s face, but only managed to speak to his stretched out neck. Aziraphale transferred the thick book to his other hand. Gently he cradled Crowley’s head as he willed a pillow into existence.

Crowley let Aziraphale carry his head in his hand. The angel’s hand was warm and soft on his scalp. It sent pleasant shiver down Crowley’s spine. They way he was strong but mindful, and very close. Crowley’s head was carefully placed on a pillow much too plush to belong to his couch.

“Is that any better?” Aziraphale swept the strands of crimson hair out of Crowley’s face. His hair had gotten a bit tangled, but that was something to fix later.

Crowley slowly closed his golden eyes. He exhaled in a low hum, while the ends of his mouth turned up. He was the definition of bliss. Aziraphale never saw this expression on Crowley before. The demon was always facing away from him when he played with his hair. But this looked lovely on him. Aziraphale wanted to make Crowley this peaceful and happy every day.

He couldn’t not tell him.

Crowley opened his eyes to see to see a flustered angel. Aziraphale was beaming down on him like the sun. Rosy pink dusted Aziraphale’s soft cheeks making him look even more angelic. Crowley’s heart was so full it was bound to explode soon.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was suddenly feeling bashful.

Crowley felt his own temperature rise, like a fire puffing up into his face. “… Yeah? What is it?”

Aziraphale’s soft hazel eyes darted around. He was losing his courage. “Well…”

Crowley’s heart pounded. He couldn’t wait to ask anymore. But he would wait for his angel. “Yes?” He asked, encouraging him.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak.

The book slipped from his fingers. It landed with a hard _plop_ on Crowley’s stomach.

“Ach!”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale sat Crowley up.

The demon curled inwards, holding his own stomach.

“I am so sorry! It fell out of my hand.” Aziraphale rubbed small circles into his back. Trying to make him feel better.

“It’s fine.” That was mostly true. But it was more true that something was distracting from the shock of the book. The angel’s hand running up and down the knobs of his spine scattered most of Crowley’s thoughts.

Aziraphale put the offending book to the cushion next to them. “Are you hurt?”

“No, pain’s gone now.” Crowley realized that he was be held in Aziraphale’s lap. His heart began to pound in his chest again. But the moment was gone. Crowley was inches from Aziraphale’s face. “Do you wanna watch something on the telly?”

Despite the aching of his chest, Aziraphale’s heart was lighter at the suggestion. “That’s sounds nice.”

Crowley grinned, and turned away from Aziraphale’s face. “Alright, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took TOO MANY rewrites! I redid this chapter three times before it turned out anything like what we have now. Like the only thing that stayed the same was Azriaphale and Crowley yearning for each other at the flat. Everything else changed a lot. For example I was going to have Crowley decide to read a Keats poem to Aziraphale at one point. But it felt too shoehorned it into the chapter. It just didn't flow right. But I think I'm okay with this final version.
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment or kudos if you're up to it.


	6. Chapter 6

Somewhere the warbling of a robin announced spring’s first morning. Aziraphale paused from his reading to smile at the sound. Amber light filtered through the dusty shop, and cast itself onto the angel and his, now, empty mug of coco. Aziraphale’s smile fell, and he got up to refill his mug. _How time flies,_ he thought. Then it happened. Somewhere from the ether came a tingling sensation. It radiated from his wings and slowly rolled down his back. The familiar itch made his skin crawl.

_Oh no._

It was almost noon, and Crowley was sauntering to the bookshop. Humans passed, each with their own plans. Well, the demon had a plan of his own. He was going to invite a certain angel to lunch at their usual sushi place. Maybe they could go for a walk too, it seemed unlikely for rain. Then again it was London, and that could change.

With a snap of Crowley’s fingers the locked bookshop doors swung open. The bell rang above him as his snakeskin boots thumped against the hardwood. The sound reached throughout the empty shop. _Strange,_ Crowley thought as he peeked around a bookcase to find an unoccupied reading chair. He felt the angel’s presence close by. It was warm and comforting, much like the desserts said angel enjoyed. _Must be up in his flat._ Crowley made his way up the stairs and to the door. He turned the knob, and the door clicked open.

“Hey, angel, how about lunch? We can – ”

Crowley stopped.

Before him stood Aziraphale sitting on his bed, wings fully displayed. One of his hands paused mid preen. He looked on at Crowley with surprise. The window cast him in an angelic light. He was gorgeous as always. But seeing his wings out left Crowley in a daze. They were messy. But at the same time the most lovely thing Crowley laid eyes on.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were here,” Aziraphale gave him a nervous smile. Quickly he willed his wings out of this plane of existence.The itch was almost unbearable, he should be able to fix it himself. Be no matter how hard he tried he could never reach where it ached the most.

“Uh, yep, I’m here,” Crowley stuttered, unsure what to say. “I can not be here. If you need.”

A pained expression flashed across Aziraphale’s face as his wings twitch in the ether. “No, what were you going to say?”

“Um, just… just lunch,” Crowley shifted his weight. He was still trying to gather his thoughts from the gorgeous shock. “I was thinking about that sushi place.”

“That sounds lovely,” he beamed. His smile wavered again.

Crowley noticed. “Is something wrong? With… your wings.” He tried to make that not sound like a grimace. But his wings did look awful. Even Crowley wasn’t lovestruck enough to not notice the unaligned feathers and downy fuzz that misshaped the backs of Aziraphale’s wings. It had to hurt. He couldn’t bare the thought of his angel in pain. “How long?” Crowley asked astonished.

“Sorry?”

“Uh… I – um,” Crowley stuttered as his flustered brain tried to catch up with his mouth. “It’s – it’s nothing. I can go.”

Aziraphale glared with a frown.

Crowley sighed. “How long since you’ve preened your wings?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked down at his hands in his lap, “just a view decades ago.”

He had to be lying. There’s no way his wings could have gotten _that_ bad. _It’s only the backs._ “Have you had someone groom you recently?”

“Well...”

It was Crowley’s turn to glare at Aziraphale. Though his glasses rendered it less effective.

“Over six-thousand years, I think,” Aziraphale replied. His blush deepened as embarrassment took its hold on him. He started to draw himself in to shield his heart from his thoughts. “It’s alright,” Aziraphale found himself saying. The itched spread down his arms.

“Six-thousand years, angel?” Crowley was as a loss for words.

“I’m afraid so,” Aziraphale fiddled with a feather that had fallen onto the pillow in front of him. “I don’t know how to preen myself anyhow,” He fretted. “But I’d love to go with you.”

Crowley saw the pain in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Do you… need help?”

Aziraphale continued to look at his feather in his hands. He ran a finger over the messy barbs.

“Angel?” Crowley was worried.

Aziraphale sighed.He looked at his mess of feathers. “They are in such a state. It’s embarrassing. I should be able to do them myself.”

“I don’t mind. But if you need help, you can always ask me.” Seeing Aziraphale look ashamed pained Crowley. His chest burned in anger at whichever angel made Aziraphale feel like he couldn’t ask for help. _Especially with preening!_ _It’s necessary!_ Crowley calmed down, not wanting to appear angry with Aziraphale. “We’re on our own side, right?”

“We are,” Aziraphale was smiling. Not his usual rival-the-sun-grin, but a small and hopeful. “Help would be much appreciated.” Aziraphale caught himself, “If your amendable.” A blush dusted his cheeks. “And thank you.” Love bubbled inside his chest. The same as it had when he last visited Crowley’s flat.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Crowley chuckled. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Regardless, I appreciate your willingness.” Aziraphale sighed out his embarrassment. This was their side. This was Crowley. “Well,” Aziraphale said shifting on the bed, “you can come sit.” He patted the place next to him.

The demon walked over to Aziraphale. He slid onto the plush blankets next to him. Crowley held his breath when white wings stretched out before him. Feather dust fluffed up in the air. Even in their state they looked incredibly soft. Crowley fanned away the downy dust from his face, and took off his glasses to better see every quill and barb.

He cradled the first feather he saw. The covert was at an angle that couldn’t be comfortable. Crowley grimaced as he cradled the feather. Gently he set it right, messaging the tender skin beneath. He was right. Aziraphale’s feathers were incredibly soft. They were softer than any silk that he’s worn in all of history. It sent pleasant shivers up his spine. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

Aziraphale let out a content hum. The small ache in his wing faded, replaced by Crowley’s cool touch. He would have relaxed fully, if it wasn’t for the million other unaligned feathers. But the closeness made his heart flutter. Is this how Crowley always felt when he played with the demon’s hair? No wonder he always looked so peaceful.

Crowley spotted a few old pin feathers still wrapped in their shafts. These were always his favorite. The shaft easily crumbled beneath Crowley’s fingers. A pristine new feather unfurled in his hand. It was brilliantly white. Not even the cleanest dove or most elegant swan could compare. Crowley’s heart swelled. “Beautiful,” he whispered as the feather tickled his palm.

Aziraphale’s wings twitched. “What did you say?” Aziraphale’s voice was small. “Is something wrong? You stopped.”

Alarms were going off in Crowley’s head. Everything inside him told him to save what he could and deny. “It’s just – I said that you’re wings are… beautiful,” Crowley stuttered instead. He wanted to swallow is own tongue.

“You think so?” Aziraphale asked just as shocked as Crowley. “Even with the way they look now?”

“Of course,” the words came out naturally, but with more yearning than Crowley meant. His brain raced to find ways to brush it off. But he kept his mouth shut, and let the words be.

The feeling bubbled in Aziraphale’s chest again. He looked over his shoulder to find a pair of golden eyes looking back it him. Aziraphale turn around to face Crowley properly.

Crowley felt something change. Aziraphale had something to say.

Aziraphale was waiting. Not for Crowley to speak first, but for the right words to come to him. He cleared his throat, and bolstered up the courage to speak. “I have something I think needs to be said.”

Crowley nodded. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground his elated thoughts.

The room felt hot, and Aziraphle’s wings twinged in pain. _Oh why did I have to do this now?_ Aziraphale mourned. There was still time. He could go back to the comfort of before… But it wasn’t comfortable. Nothing about this was comfortable. Aziraphale sighed, “Why does this have to be so difficult?” He let out a nervous chuckle.

“Just say what you want.” Outside Crowley was doing his best to keep cool. It was a feat worth an award. He wanted to run or hide. But above it all, he wanted to hear what Aziraphale had to say.

“What have you thought about… living together?”

“Like roommates?” Crowley was too afraid to suggest more than that. He didn’t want to put any thoughts in Aziraphale’s head right now.

“Or,” Aziraphale started slowly. “As something else. If you would like.”

“Yes.” _Ugh, that was too fast._

“Yes?” Aziraphale fiddled with his signet ring. “Yes, to what exactly.”

The angel would be the end of him. “Both. Yes to both. Both the living together, and the… something more.”

The angel and the demon stared at one another. Each waiting for the other to make the first move. The air between them was thick with timidity. Both beings were out of their depth. They waited for what felt like an eternity. A minute passed, and a bird chirped outside the window.

Aziraphale’s wings started twitching again. He flinched as they fluttered. “Sorry, they just–”

“Let me fix it,” Crowley rushed, trying to fill the silence, “if you want.”

Aziraphale beamed and turned back around again.

Crowley’s blush deepened. He rubbed his face to ground himself. _Everything’s fine,_ he thought. _The angel just confessed, and now I’m grooming his wings._ _This is fine._ He hesitated for a moment.

“Are you alright?”

“To be honest, it’s a little much.” It felt good to say that. Crowley felt lighter.

“Oh,” Aziraphale went quiet. “You don’t have to finish grooming them today.”

“No,” He said a little too fast. “Did…” Crowley took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t take back what he’d say. “Did you just… tell me you love me?”

“I think so, my dear.” Aziraphale thumbed over his ring’s imprints. “Did you do the same?”

“Yes.” Crowley tried to focus on the task in front of him. He didn’t want to get lost in his head. Thoughtlessly he smoothed out barbs. Down freed itself from his auxiliaries. Crowley picked up one and smiled. “It’s soft.”

Aziraphale peeked over his shoulder, “What is?”

Crowley leaned foreword, draping his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders. For a moment Crowley was worried this closeness was too much. But Aziraphale quietly leaned back into him. It was alright.

Crowley opened his palm in front of the angel, presenting the fuzz of a feather. “Found this.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale groaned. “I get those all the time. They make such a mess.”

Crowley watched a soft breeze roll the feather across his palm. “I like it.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s soft, like you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw Aziraphale blush. “Thank you, my dear.” The angel took Crowley’s hand and held it close to his heart. The thought to kiss it fluttered passed. For a moment Aziraphale resisted.

And then he didn’t.

Taking him gently by the wrist, Aziraphale raised Crowley’s hand to his lips. He tenderly left a kiss on the demon’s curled fingers. His hand was cool and boney. Aziraphale felt the demon’s pulse flutter against his fingers. He placed Crowley’s hand over his heart again.

Their hearts soared. Crowley rested his cheek on Aziraphale’s soft curls, trying not to let his chest explode. He took in the gentle, vanilla smell of his angel. _My angel,_ his heart was beating the very words. A very undemonic grin slowly spread across his face. Aziraphale rubbed the arms that where wrapped around him. The bubbling feeling in his chest was freed. They fluttered through his whole corporation. It was like something had been set off. Aziraphale laughed because he felt safe and warm. He leaned more into Crowley, wanting to drowned in this emotion.

Love coloured the golden air of the bookshop flat.

Finally they allowed themselves to love freely. It wouldn’t be easy to bear this freedom. But it would be worth every second, of every day, of every millennium. The demon lovingly finished Aziraphale’s wings. And their lunch plan turned into a romantic dinner at the Ritz. Outside the spring robin sang it’s love-songs for all the world to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's done. I can't believe I started this in April. I do want to apologize for this chapter taking a while. I wasn't happy with this chapter's first draft, and was trying to fix it for a few days. So I decided to let it sit and come back to it later. You've all left lovely comments on this fic, and I just wanted to try to have this last chapter be the best I could make it.
> 
> Also I've been wanting to write a wingfic for a while now. But the main problem was that I didn't know wing anatomy well. So now my internet history is filled with reference sheets, and cute pet videos of birds preening each other. The birbs were all are very cute, and I'd highly recommend watching them if you're having a bad day.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this fic. If so please leave a comment or a kudos.


End file.
